Move Along Like You Always Do
by foscari
Summary: He had flown in the endless blue sky and it had given him indescribable joy. Oneshot. Post-Series. Alto/Ranka.


Title: Move Along Like You Always Do

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Unbeta-ed, post-series, OFCs

Genre: General, angst, humour

Word Count: 2008

Main Character(s): Alto, Michel, Sheryl, Ranka, Klan, Luca, Brera, OFCs

Pairing(s): Sheryl/Alto (onesided), Alto/Ranka

Summary: Alto moving forward with life after the war. Oneshot.

Disclaimer: Macross Frontier, characters and settings are copyright to Satelight and Studio Nue.

AN: This is set after the series ends but before the soon-to-be-out-movie. It's AU in that the events in this story will never happen in the movie. If it did, then I am a super psychic. It was supposed to be a Michel/Alto when I started this but it ended up as a series of drabble-type snapshots on Alto and the people around him post-series.

* * *

Time went by, unheeding and uncaring. Lives continued on as if the war had never happened.

--

His life had changed drastically ever since his encounters with Ranka Lee and Sheryl Nome. Nothing was the same for him after that. The change was good. It forced him to move forward instead of remaining stagnant, made him see there was something beyond the horizon and made him grow up. Oh, he was still stubborn and hot-tempered but he had mellowed down during the years, becoming more mature and less prone to explosive outbursts or actions.

He wasn't dense, as much as people would like to say it. He was perceptive enough when needed. He knew the girls were chasing after him, competing against each other to see who will come out top in the race to win him. He remembered hearing about it from Klan and the outrage and amusement he had felt that time. Klan had thought it was funny but she had also been serious when she told he was going to have to choose, whether he wanted to or not.

_That would be a long time coming_, said a familiar voice, filled with amusement. He could picture that smirk on that face, the way the mouth curved up knowingly in that smirk.

_Shut up_, he told the person.

His words lacked bite and were more wistful than usual.

--

The new planet was beautiful, miles of green and blue around, untouched by humanity.

It was the sky, however, that captured his heart. And endless sea of blue, stretching miles and miles across the horizon.

He had already flown in it once, right after the war.

It filled his heart with indescribable joy.

--

They were an odd team, put together hastily after Ozma Lee was promoted and left them without a commanding leader and missing two members.

Jamie was the youngest, solemn and wide-eyed, an excellent sniper who never missed a target. Saitou was the opposite, always grinning and joking, never seen without a cigarette in his mouth. Then there was Luca with his mad genius on all things technological and geeky, toting that laptop around as if it was an extension of him and finally, himself the so-called 'hero' of the war and the squad leader. He merely rolled his eyes whenever someone brought that up.

They clashed as most people with different opinions and personalities do. Jamie who took everything far too seriously for someone his age and Saitou who took things too lightly which resulted in them bickering a whole lot. Luca would be trying to placate them, Saitou would be baiting Jamie and he would find himself physically trying to stop the youngster from throttling the older man. They were an odd team but like the pieces of a jigsaw, they fitted.

He wouldn't change his squad for anything.

--

"What do you want for your birthday?"

It was the faint accent in the tone and the unapologetic manner that let him know who was calling at this time of the night, morning. He threw an arm across his face, shielding his eyes. There was the steady hum in the background, a soothing and familiar noise that blended in with the ticking of the clock.

"Don't you ever sleep?" he griped instead of answering her. He had learned that she enjoyed the verbal sparring they get into. The more riled up he was, the more she would tease him.

"It's your birthday next week. Surely there's something you want?" was her reply. She was persistent. He knew she would press him until he gave her an answer to her liking. Stubborn woman. He settled for a vague answer.

He withdrew the arm, dropping onto his stomach as his fingers picked at the blanket. The room was dimly lit by the single wall lamp. Steel and metal met his gaze. He could hear the low hum of the machineries and engines behind the walls.

"I didn't notice," he murmured.

She harrumphed. "How can you forget? You only turn 21 once in your life."

"I don't want a party," he told her, sternly, slightly alarmed. He knew her well enough to know that she did nothing by halves. It was all or nothing. The bigger, the better. He could just picture how it would go if she had her way.

"You're no fun," she said. He could hear the pout in her voice, could see it on her pretty face, lower lip stuck out in a sulk in that patented expression only she had perfected.

"No party," he repeated, firmly. "Nothing embarrassing and extravagant. No balloons, streamers or anything gaudy. And most importantly, no naked person jumping out of a cake."

A loud sigh was heard. "Fine, fine. Spoilsport. Many would have loved to see these hopes and dreams."

"I'm not the many."

"I know. That's what makes you so different." Her voice had taken on that low, husky tone. The one that made him uncomfortable and nervous.

He heaved a sigh, staring at the bottom of the bunk above. Talking to Sheryl always left him feeling as if he was running a sprint, all wrung out and tired.

--

He tried to get along with Ranka's brother.

The problem was, he and Brera Sterne were far too alike. They got along like cats and dogs at best, both rubbing each other the wrong way and bristling over what the other said. Still, they both tried.

Only because it made Ranka happier than anything to know that they were friends.

--

Klan still missed him. He knew because sometimes he would find her looking up at the blue and white variable fighter (it was Jamie's unit now), her expression pensive. She didn't cry. Not anymore. The first and last time she had cried had been the day after his passing, sitting in the cockpit and clutching at the helmet, sobbing heartbrokenly.

They became close. Their conversations were casual. Sometimes, Klan would fill him with gossip about the other crew members and the squad. Sometimes, they would sit on the deck, legs dangling high over the sparkling blue waters and talked about Michel. It was nice to just sit there and reminisce about the person who had grown to be part of their lives and their hearts.

"He would have want you to move on," she said, unexpectedly.

He turned to look at her but she kept her gaze resolutely forward, towards the horizon. Her legs, however, were swinging back and forth, toes wriggling. Even when she was sitting still, she was never quite still. She would either be shifting from side to side or tapping her foot. He had wondered if it was due to the being in such a smaller body and having so much energy inside. He never asked. He rather not have a black eye.

"It's hard to move on," he admitted, looking up at the sky. He leaned back a little.

"Don't you think it's harder for me than for you?" she said. "I knew him nearly all my life. We grew up together. I thought that we'd be together forever. Guess forever isn't going happen. Not in this life or ever," she added, with a touch of bitterness.

He had no reply for that.

"I'm not making this into a competition as who knew him longer nor am I telling you to forget him," she continued, "but I know that if he was here right now, he would have smacked you silly for continuing to be depressed or moping about it. He'd tell you to get back up on your ass and start to move on. As long as you still hold your memories of him inside, then it's all right."

He felt a stinging sensation in his eyes but no tears fell. There was a sniffle beside him. He wondered if he had to offer words of comfort to the diminutive captain when she spoke.

"If you ever tell anyone I said that, I will hit you into next Thursday," she added.

He laughed. He couldn't help it.

--

He came here one morning.

He said nothing, just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking at the smooth surface with the embossed name. SMS don't get funerals or even a burial but a special exception had been made. There was a breeze that sent his hair flapping in it, a warm zephyr that was at odds with the morning chill and dew on marble surface.

He had no wings but he felt that he could fly in the endless blue sky once more.

--

There were streamers and party hats (which were cheesy and childish but it had been the Bridge Girls's idea). Thankfully, there was no half-naked blonde jumping out of a birthday cake. There was alcohol, a seeming endless supply of it, judging from the way the officers were chugging it down, and Ozma Lee getting good and sloshed. Cathy would be annoyed when the man gets home later.

He was forever grateful that Sheryl had been called to do a promotional tour today.

Though the sight of Bobby in that glittery pink suit while groping a drunk Ozma's butt scarred him for life.

--

Ranka called mid-morning, her voice cheerful, carrying with that familiar lilt.

They met for lunch at a quaint little café at the street corner of San Francisco. The trams rattled by every ten minutes or so, carrying with it passengers or tourists. The sun was bright today, shining down on them through leaves of the tree they were sitting under. He listened as she chatted about what she had been doing few days ago while stirring his iced tea.

She kept using her hands when she was talking, fingers fluttering and waving as she gestured, punctuating her words. He found himself following the movements of her hands, finding that she looked so much livelier when she was happy.

They wound up at Cliff's Park in the afternoon, strolling around the monument before settling down on the marble steps. He didn't know when this became their special spot. It just is. They both came here whenever they needed solace from their hectic lives and the people around them or when they wanted to talk.

He remembered the last time they had met here, on a night in the aftermath. The tearful goodbye and the confession she gave, as if she had thought she would never see him again.

"It's beautiful here," she said, reaching up and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She had grown out her hair a little. The ends brushed her shoulders now.

"It is."

Looking at her, cast in the warm golden and lavender light of the sunset, he knew that he could love her and maybe, just maybe, he did love her. She had never laugh off anything he said. She listened to him and looked at him with her heart in her eyes, as if he was the most amazing person she had ever known. It had been unnerving when he first knew because it made him felt as if he had put upon such a high pedestal, with so much expectations on him.

He impulsively leaned towards her, watching as her eyes widened and kissed her softly on her lips, seeing her eyes flutter shut. They parted after a heartbeat.

She smiled, understanding coming to her eyes, even as pink suffused her cheeks. She was more perceptive than they gave credit for, he thought, pleased.

"I want you to be happy, Alto-kun," she said, putting her hand on his. "You've always done everything for me, protected me, helped me and I hate that I can't do something for you."

"You already have," he said.

Her smile was brilliant, as bright as the sunshine and so very sweet. "Happy birthday, Alto-kun." She leaned up, giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek.

He vowed that he will one day return that confession.

For now, he curled his hand around hers (so very small, so delicate) as they watched the sunset in comfortable silence.

Fin.


End file.
